


The Boxing Day Claus

by ubicaritas (Janet)



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: Boxing Day, Community: discoveredinalj, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janet/pseuds/ubicaritas
Summary: Some Boxing Day magic for Doyle and Bodie.
Relationships: William Bodie/Ray Doyle
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	The Boxing Day Claus

The small hand of the clock was firmly centred in single digits, and the darkness of the flat complete, when two figures stumbled across the threshold. One hand groped for the light switch; another reached back to the door and rattled the security locks back into place.

“Food?” Bodie glanced hopefully at the kitchen door.

“Nope.” Doyle peeled off his jacket and let it fall to the floor where he stood. He tried, ineffectually, to toe off his shoes, before remembering that the boots he wore had actual laces which needed untying. With his feet finally free, he elbowed his partner to get him moving. “Sleep first, then food. No arguments.”

Bodie allowed himself to be propelled along the hall past the kitchen, then dug his heels in. “If no food, then at least a shower.”. He tugged at a limp curl over Doyle’s forehead. “I think there might be something living in there, sunshine.”

Doyle frowned, and ran a hand through his tangled hair, wincing when it came away sticky with substances he decided he’d rather not think about. Provided, of course, that he wasn’t so tired he couldn’t actually think, right at the moment.

He leaned over and wiped his hand on Bodie’s already filthy shirt, ignoring the half-hearted protest that greeted his action. “My flat, my turn first,” he said. “And if I’m going to get clean, you’d better stay awake for yours.”

“Turn?” Bodie was right on Doyle’s heels as he headed for the flat’s small bathroom. “No turns here. We’ll go together. Last time you went first… oof!” Bodie knocked aside the rather fragrant t-shirt sent his way. “Let’s just say I want some hot water.” A gleam entered his eye, displacing a bit of the fatigue which had long since taken up residence there. “And besides, you haven’t wished me a proper Happy Christmas yet…”

*

Surrounded by comfort, nestled tightly against the warmth that was his partner by a firm arm wrapped around his chest, Doyle drifted reluctantly into wakefulness. He took a slow, deep breath, the tang of the cool morning air blending with the unmistakeable scent left behind from Bodie’s most thorough holiday ‘best wishes’ before exhaustion had claimed them both. With a contented smile, he closed his eyes on the hope of regaining his place deep in sleep. As the call of nature which had awakened him became more insistent, however, he eased himself out of the bed without disturbing Bodie, and headed across the hall to take care of business. The damage was done, though, and now wide awake, Doyle went into the kitchen to make himself some tea.

He had just poured his second cup when he heard the bathroom door shut, and a moment later a bleary-eyed Bodie dropped into the empty chair on the other side of the table. Without a word he rose and switched the kettle back on, returning moments later with a rejuvenated teapot and Bodie’s favourite mug. “Get some of this down your throat,” he said. “It’ll make a new man of you.”

“What’s wrong with the old one? I thought you rather liked him.” Bodie closed his eyes and sipped appreciatively; Doyle had made up for the lack of milk by adding an extra measure of sugar. 

Doyle snickered. “Oh, I like him just fine,” he said. “Thought I proved that last night, too.” He watched in amusement as a faint flush climbed up his partner’s neck. It was fun to tease Bodie when his defences were down… clearly the tea hadn’t kicked in yet.

Bodie drank the rest of his tea in silence, finally setting the mug back down on the table with a sigh. “That hit the spot,” he said. “A good way to start a day off, other than sleeping longer, of course. Oh, and Happy Christmas,” he added. “Didn’t actually manage to say it last night.”

“You’re a day late, of course.” Doyle put his own empty cup down, leaning back in his chair. “Christmas was yesterday, mate.”

“Yeah, I know.” Bodie looked regretfully at Doyle. “And with the way we’ve been working for the last few weeks, I’m afraid I haven’t managed to pick up a pressie for you. Nothing.” 

The month had started off with a bang, literally, as a car bomb had shattered the peace outside a central London church just as its Advent carol service was ending. Despite extensive damage no-one had been killed, but the violent start to the Christmas season had led to four solid weeks of duty in pursuit of the bombers and all the other usual December troublemakers. Days and nights had blurred together in an endless stream of tension alternating with drudgery, overnight stakeouts followed by regrettably few hours of sleep snatched in the car, rest room, and occasionally even their own flats… and all with very little to show for it. There had been precious little time to think about gift shopping.

Doyle shook his head, chasing away the phantoms of the last month. He studied his partner for a moment, then silently stood and disappeared into the hallway. 

Curious, Bodie followed, and came to a halt beside Doyle, who was leaning against the wall opposite the hall closet door, a pensive look on his face. “Ray?” he said. “Are you all right?”

“When I was growing up,” Doyle said, his face and voice carefully expressionless. “I mean, when I was a really young kid, back in Derby, Christmas wasn’t always a pleasant time. My dad didn’t have steady work, and even when he did, the money he earned didn’t always make it into the house for my mother to buy food for the family, let alone gifts at Christmastime.”

Bodie reached out and placed a hand on Doyle’s shoulder, giving his support with a gentle squeeze. He’d been together in CI5 with Doyle for years, and it was still a rare occasion for him to hear anything this personal from his partner. 

Doyle gave a faint nod of acknowledgement. “Looking back on it, I know that mum not only knew, but planned for it,” he said. “She would do what she could for Christmas Day, make the meal special, and try to have something there in the morning for me and my sisters to open. And she usually succeeded.” He took a deep breath. “But the next day, Boxing Day, when my dad would inevitably return to work, or be out at the pub complaining about the lack of work with his mates, well, that was when we got to open our gifts from… Mrs. Claus.”

“From who?” Bodie lifted an eyebrow in confusion. “You’ve lost me.”

“Mrs. Claus. The wife of Father Christmas.” Doyle opened the closet door. “Mum explained that on Christmas night, after Father Christmas returned from his journey, he was very tired, and that’s when Mrs. Claus went out on _her_ trip around the world, to deliver anything that he might have forgotten. And she never put the gifts under the tree, she left them in the front hall closet.” 

He reached up to the shelf, pushed aside a scarf and the flat’s copy of the phone directory, and pulled out a neatly wrapped package with a red bow on top. Holding it close, he continued, “This year, and I can’t explain it so don’t ask, I had a feeling it was going to be bad, that there wouldn’t be time… for anything.”

Doyle held out the box to his partner, friend, and lover. “It looks like Mrs. Claus is still hard at work,” he said. “Happy Christmas, Bodie.”

_**End** _

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 'Discovered in a Box of Baubles', December 2020.


End file.
